what she knew (BREAKDOWN Book 4) Page 12

  She tucked the letter and flash drive into her purse and Troy walked her to the door. Opening it, she paused, allowing a blast of refreshing autumn air into his home. “Thank you, so very much.”

  He frowned again, his gaze aimed toward the police cruiser parked on the road outside his gate. “I’ve done little to earn any gratitude.”

  “On the contrary,” she said. “You could have thrown this away.”

  “And let a murderer skate?” His expression soured. “That’s appalling.”

  She agreed. “You gave Sylvia guidance and friendship.” Though he shook his head, his gaze full of regret, she plowed on. “You were important to her, a bright spot rather than a routine. And I’m thankful for your advice to take care of who I am now so the past can’t drag me back down.”

  “Stay careful,” he said.

  “The next time I see you, I’ll bring something sweet,” she said. Better to exude confidence than to leave him with more worries.

  Alone in her car, she gave in to the quiver of trepidation and clutched the steering wheel to steady her hands. Knowing Sylvia as she did, she wasn’t concerned with the information on the unicorn. She was far more worried about the letter and the information Sylvia didn’t trust to electronics and digital databases.

  Ana only made it as far as the gates at the end of Troy’s long driveway before she pulled over to read the letter from Sylvia. She shouldn’t open it, not when she was still so raw from the service and had to attend a reception. She opened it anyway.

  Dear Ana,

  It’s October 2nd. If you’re reading this, I lost the battle. Forgive me for not opening up and sharing these details sooner, but now it’s time for you to make sure we win the war. For Josie and all the others.

  It isn’t easy discovering that my lifelong hero is actually the lowest form of scum. At this point, I’m positive the local connection to the trafficking ring is my father. No, I haven’t been sniffing cleaning solvents, I haven’t hit my head and I’m not delusional.

  A couple weeks ago, I overheard him mention Josie’s school in Venezuela during a phone call. He tried to blow it off, claiming he intended to donate money for renovations or something. I didn’t buy it, not after checking the video at the office. I can’t believe the way he leered at her the first couple times he brought over lunch after I hired her.

  I gave him hell that day, called him names and eventually tricked him into admitting he kidnapped Josie. That sent him over the edge. He told me in no uncertain terms he’d taken her to prove how little people like her mattered in the real world. He said I needed to grow up and take the blinders off. Girls like her were replaceable.

  Ana blinked away tears. Zion sounded so much like her father.

  He swore I’ll never find any proof of his involvement. And I haven’t. He told me to forget Josie, that I’ll never see her again. I went out to the house the other day and sat on the deck, visiting with Mom. All I could think was that he could be right. They have nearly one hundred acres and he could have buried her anywhere out there.

  I had to leave in a rush before I blurted it all out to Mom. Even if she believed me, what could she do? You have no idea how much I want to make him pay for this.

  Yesterday, he cornered me at the office. He knows I’ve been looking into the other missing teenagers. Maybe he tapped my phone or bugged my office or something. He ordered me to back off ‘or else’. We fought again and I dared him to try and stop me. You know I’ll never quit until we find her.

  No. Sylvia didn’t quit anything once she’d set her mind on it.

  Dad’s always been smart and hardnosed and a little arrogant. I never would have believed it before, but I can see now that some facet of his nature twisted into cruelty somewhere along the way. Maybe it was always there and he just got careless about hiding it. Or maybe I’ve simply learned to look for it. Either way, he isn’t acting like a man getting into trouble for the first time.

  Without real evidence, he won’t be caught. I’m hustling tonight, in case he does something outrageous to drag my name through the mud or pin Josie’s disappearance on me or who knows what. Arrogant and furious aren’t a good combination.

  Well I’m sure I sound paranoid by now. You know I’m not. I compiled all the articles and all our theories and put them on a flash drive along with everything I could download on Dad. If you only have the letter, someone is holding out on you.

  I trust you’ll figure it out.

  One thing isn’t on the drive. I planted a voice-activated recorder pen in Dad’s car. There’s another one in the mug of pens in his office. I haven’t been able to retrieve that one yet. He made two calls from his car in the last week to someone named Sergio Rojas. They talked for a couple of minutes each time about cattle shipments. I’m hoping the name clicks for you after working with trafficking victims.

  Ana closed her eyes as the evil face of her father filled her mind. All she could do was breathe through it. Even here, in her final letter, Sylvia was careful to protect her secrets.

  I stashed the recording device from his car in your office at the clinic. It’s a slim black pen in the back of your center drawer. Maybe the recordings along with the flash drive and this letter will be enough to convince Chief McCabe or the FBI to investigate Dad. Special Agent Adler has my earlier notes, but so far he hasn’t gotten back to me.

  Whatever happens, protect yourself. Don’t let this blow back on you or upset everything you’ve made of your life.

  Don’t give Dad that kind of win. One of us has to take him down and survive to help others. If you’re reading this, I guess it has to be you.

  Your sister in spirit,

  Sylvia

  Ana’s heart pounded in her ears. She read the letter again, her pulse stuttering at the sight of her father’s name on the page, written in Sylvia’s hand.

  Zion Cole, human trafficker?

  Sylvia must be mistaken, and yet, she was confident enough to put it in writing.

  Ana forced herself to think through Sylvia’s allegations logically as she drove to the Cole home for the reception. Zion certainly fit the profile they had of the killer. Taller than Sylvia, familiar to her, and though he was sixty, he remained fit and strong.

  Edgy, Ana walked into the Cole home. A member of the mortuary team was stationed at the door, with a guest book. She signed in, pleased her hand didn’t shake.

  The somber mood of the guests and the carefully modulated voices soothed her, slowing her racing thoughts. Aromas of both savory and sweet comfort foods floated on the air, expertly catered by the team from San Francisco. Ana’s stomach cramped with nerves over what she was about to attempt.

  Could Laney still use the recorded information if Ana brought the device out of the house? She probably should have called Laney first. But Sylvia had put this on her. Only Ana, having grown up in the heart of those horrors, really understood the misery victims suffered.

  She didn’t care about protecting herself, her career, or her reputation anymore. She would happily sacrifice all of that to know her father and his cronies were in fact, done. Out of business forever.

  This had grown beyond finding justice for Sylvia. This was about justice for all the girls she knew hadn’t made it out of those chains alive. All those girls, nameless and forgotten, deserved more. Here was her opportunity to make a difference. At last.

  Scanning the expansive great room, it seemed nearly everyone who’d been to the funeral was milling about, along with many others. She imagined the entire community would come and go before the end of the day.

  Ana spotted Yolanda standing between the kitchen and dining room, visiting with the mayor, his new assistant Gracie, and Dana. Yolanda’s eyes were puffy and her cheeks pale, though she tried to smile as they conversed. Ana hoped Dana could convince the woman to sit down.

  Then her eyes lit on Zion, outside on the deck, surrounded by several familiar faces. She had to hold back a scream of rage as memories of her father in similar situati
ons fogged over the reality.

  She wasn’t a child any longer. She was an educated adult, armed with knowledge and strength, and backed up by a functional justice system.

  She focused on her intention and made a to-do list in her head. First, take the voice recorder pen from Zion’s office. Second, stop by the clinic for the pen Sylvia had stashed there. Third, go directly to the police station. After that, not much else mattered today.

  Flanked by Mayor Jessup and Dana, Yolanda walked toward a seating area in front of the fireplace. To Ana’s eye, she seemed a fraction more at ease than she’d been during the service. Maybe it was the white wine in her hand, or more likely, the stories guests were sharing about her daughter.

  For the first time in years, Ana wondered if her mother had ever grieved for her. Likely she’d been denied the opportunity and space. There was no telling what lies her father would have given to cover up her escape.

  She chatted quietly with other guests as she alternately studied Zion and the closed door of his home office. Sylvia believed their fathers had cruel business and brutality in common. Ana wondered if she ever would have seen that side of him.

  Her father had been the raw end of the equation. Gathering up girls, testing them and often breaking them before moving them along to buyers. She’d known Zion for years and never once sensed he was the refined, cultured end of that violent industry. She’d cared for the man through annual physicals, a bout of flu and a knee injury. She’d shared meals and jokes with him at fundraisers and other community events. And she’d administered vaccination boosters before he’d traveled out of the country.

  Bile burned in the back of her throat, thinking she might have assisted him in some small way when he was going out shopping for girls as casually as other people shopped for cars.

  If Sylvia was right, he’d fooled everyone, even his wife. The idea of a man as admired as Zion Cole coordinating with Rojas for the purpose of selling girls like cattle was reprehensible.

  Today would be the beginning of his downfall. Her only regret would be piling more grief onto Yolanda.

  Laney was making her way out and Ana was tempted to hand her the flash drive. She could do it in a way that no one would notice. No one but a person who might just have been manipulating everyone from the start.

  Zion, occupied with the service, the private interment, and his struggling wife had no way of knowing where Ana had spent the last hour. She might feel reassured by that if her father hadn’t had her tailed time and again before she’d finally escaped.

  She’d learned at an early age that men in power had access. And men in powerful criminal organizations had eyes everywhere.

  Those men also had an obligation to keep up the legitimate façade. She wouldn’t have another opportunity like this, with Zion distracted by a house full of people. This was her best chance of grabbing an advantage that would turn the tide of the war, as Sylvia put it. Easing her way across the great room toward the office, she stopped frequently to visit with other guests, wondering how they’d react if she blurted out the news that they were standing in the home of a criminal.

  Nearing the closed doors of the office, she waited for an opening to slip inside. She’d decided it would be best to fake a call from the clinic. Pulling her phone from her purse, she peered at the screen. No one was close enough to know her phone hadn’t made a sound.

  She turned the door handle and found it locked. Angry and hurt, her first thought was the locked door signified an admission of guilt, though it was hardly evidence. Logically, it made sense for any normal businessman to want to keep his workspace off limits when his home was full of people coming and going.

  Momentarily stumped, Ana picked up a glass of sparkling water and joined the group of people closest to Yolanda waiting to express their sympathy and support.

  She briefly considered searching other parts of the house, just in case she found some other type of evidence. Sylvia had given Josie a silver poodle pin as an encouragement of sorts. Maybe Zion had kept it as a memento. He wouldn’t be the first killer to do something like that.

  Snooping through the house was a far cry from slipping into an office to take a call from the clinic. How was she going to get in there? Even if she knew how to pick a lock, she didn’t see how she’d manage the feat without drawing attention. She was stuck hoping that what Sylvia had collected so far would be enough for Laney to get a search warrant for Zion’s office.

  After speaking briefly with Yolanda and encouraging her to rest, she turned for the door, only to be stopped by Zion. Her blood ran cold, then hot and she struggled to stay in control.

  He was a handsome man. Tall and lean, his short silver hair gleamed against the sun-warmed skin of a man who enjoyed the outdoors. For hiking or burying bodies, she wondered. He bore no resemblance to her rough-talking, craggy-faced father whose beady eyes revealed the snake under his skin.

  She let him draw her out through the doors that opened onto the deck and down the steps into the backyard. They stopped under the shade of a tree near the fence. Sylvia’s comment from the letter that Josie could be buried out here echoed through her mind.

  “I’m worried for Yolanda,” he said. “She isn’t sleeping and I think it’s affecting her thought processes.”

  “In what way?”

  He flung an arm toward the house. “This reception is a prime example. It’s only making things worse.”

  “I disagree.” Ana continued as he glared down his straight nose at her. “The reception was smart. It allows the two of you to grieve with the community. It gives you both closure. Tomorrow, we’ll all start to move on.”

  “Possibly,” he muttered. “The lack of sleep is definitely affecting her health.”

  Ana knew Yolanda had signed the documents allowing her to share medical information with her husband, but after reading Sylvia’s letter, she would tread carefully. “I changed her prescription. This is an unthinkable tragedy for both of you. Time is the only real healer in this situation.”

  “Time and justice.” His pale blue gaze darkened, skating over the guests closer to the house. “Someone must know something.”

  Ana’s heart pounded. “You should speak with Chief McCabe about that.” She sipped the sparkling water to keep from blurting out something that might reveal her true thoughts. According to his daughter, Zion was an expert at hiding his true nature. If she made a mistake, he would pounce. “Honestly, I’m concerned for both of you,” she said. “Have you been sleeping?”

  “Better than her,” Zion admitted. “I’m her husband. Since our wedding day, it’s been my job to provide and care and comfort. I want to fix it.”

  “This is day will forever be one of the worst of her life,” she murmured, catching sight of Yolanda just inside the doors that separated the house and deck. “Yours too. I’m afraid the nature of death is that it is unfixable.”

  He glared at her and then shook his head, his shoulders rounding as if the weight of the world had finally become too much. “I should never have agreed to this. That crowd of people can’t possibly be helping. She’s only wallowing, denying the inevitable.”

  “On the contrary,” Ana replied. “Knowing your daughter was well-loved, admired and respected should bring both of you a great deal of comfort.”

  “I guess I’ll defer to your expertise.” He turned that intense gaze on her directly. “If you see any signs of emotional breakdown, you’ll tell me?”

  Emotional breakdown? Ana had to work hard to hold her nerve. Was the man laying groundwork for incompetence in case Sylvia’s accusations surfaced and Yolanda saw through him? “May I ask why you’re so concerned? It must be more than the decision to have people over.”

  He pulled off the expression of a devoted husband perfectly. “It all goes back to the sleeplessness, I suppose. She’s been pulling away, distant. She was distraught and confused in the middle of the night and again this morning. It’s not like her.”

  “That sounds as if she
was caught in a twilight,” Ana said. “It’s more of a physical side-effect than an emotional concern. Considering the medication adjustment, it’s no surprise. Things will settle out.”

  From her purse, she heard the chime of her cell phone. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  He tipped his head as she walked away from him and up the steps to the deck. Recognizing Laney’s number, she answered right away. “This is Dr. Perez.”

  “Ana, Laney. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the Cole house.”

  Laney cursed. “I need you to come by the station. And bring your phone.”

  Ana didn’t dare reply or ask questions. Not out here where she could be overheard by Zion or anyone else he might have in his pocket. “I’m on my way.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Yolanda’s eyes burned. She didn’t feel as if she had any tears left to shed. She was grieving more than her daughter today. She could not shed the horrific likelihood that her husband killed Sylvia in some twisted notion of protection.

  It didn’t make sense. She had no proof, no motive. And yet she suddenly believed it with all her heart and soul. It was as if Sylvia had whispered in her ear during a moment of fitful sleep. The instinct would not abate. Would not be dismissed.

  A small voice in her head tried to convince her she was wrong, but the idea had taken root and branched out, connecting all the trivial and inconsequential details into a strong working theory.

  “Someone robbed and murdered my daughter?” That had been his first question when Chief McCabe and Deputy Chief Holt had delivered the terrible news. The moment bounced around in her mind. “So what you’re telling us is that you don’t have any evidence. You don’t have any idea who did this?”

  They still didn’t. All that reward money and not one credible lead. He’d made such a case, insisting that only a private investigator could get to the truth. Dear God, who did he intend to set up to take the blame for his crime?

  No one had ever questioned her or Zion as potential suspects. A perk of being original Shutter Lake founders, she supposed. She thought he’d been home in his office the night Sylvia had died, but he could have come and gone whenever he pleased. They’d designed the house with an exterior door so he could conduct business and interact with his clients without having to traipse through the family space.